Always
by BetsunoNeko
Summary: He has Given him a voice. Given him meaning. Given him strength. Given him a world to look forward to. Saved him so, so many times. All in his silence. But the silence is always full of so much and a little more. And it suddenly became a lot less terrifying. That's him. Him. His, Craig Tucker. His safety blanket. His guardian. His all. He cared. And that was enough.
1. Safety Net

*Safety Net*

Silence. He hates it. Every moment filled with an empty, awkward longing that stretches out indefinitely, each person just waiting for another to fill the gapping burden. No one knows what to say, and the pressure on everyone in the room is thick and slightly nerve wracking. In silence, people are forced to confront the sound of their own thoughts, completely untainted and unmarred from the commentary of the rest of the world.

He hates the sound of his own mind. Maybe because he can't stand to be alone. When left alone with his thoughts, he can't help but feel utterly abandoned. Scared of his own mind.

But for some reason, silence with _him _is something entirely different.

It's comforting and gentle and filled with so, so much, even when nothing is really being said at all. _He _taught him to accept silence and find the laughter inside. Sometimes he wonders just how much _he _has done for him. Maybe everything.

Given him a voice. Given him meaning. Given him strength. Given him a world to look forward to. Saved him so, so many times. All in silence. But the silence is always full of so much and a little more.

And it suddenly became a lot less terrifying. That's _him. _

_Him. _His, Craig Tucker. His safety blanket. His guardian. His all.

The times before _he _came into his life were bad. So, so bad. Full of so much silence and so much pain and so much screaming. So many tears and so many other terrible, horrible things. Everything laughed, everything mocked, everything bit and tore at him. And somehow _he, _his _he, _could see through all of it.

_He _brought noise to the silence only he could hear.

_He _took away all of his pain.

_He _shed light into his shadows.

_He _got rid of the gnomes.

_He _made him coffee.

_He _was his shield.

_He _held his hand.

_He _was there.

_He _fixed him.

_He _cared.

And that was enough.

* * *

**I'm not sure if I should continue this as a story... let me know if you liked it!  
**


	2. It Was Spiked

**So, after way too long, I decided to continue this. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

*It Was Spiked*

_*Craig's POV_

If there's one thing I hate, its parties. Just a bunch of drunk asses making sluts of themselves publicly while loud music plays at a volume loud enough to puncture any reasonable person's ear drums. I don't really know why I'm still here. Oh, right.

I like to drink. And smoke.

Clyde screams something in my ear and I wince, shoving him angrily off of the new-age fancy leather couch with vomit probably soaked into its cushions. The party is massive and extremely loud and stocked with everything a bored teenager wants. It's over the top and packed. That's Token for you. He's over the top with everything.

I'm standing against a wall in his basement, my arms folded across my chest and a red solo-cup of rum and coke in my hand. If this is even my cup… people need to label these damn things. Suddenly the obnoxious pop music contorts to something with a lot of guitar and piano. It's a chaotic and rapid beat and the artist's voice is barely understandable.

I squint forward and see none-other than a very drunk Annie by the sound system with her phone connected to all of the speakers. Of course. It's something Japanese. That girl's obsessed.

Clyde screams something at me again as Bebe slings both arms around his shoulders. I'm half-tempted to push him off of the couch beside me, again. Instead I side against it and trudge up the stairs to Token's kitchen. On the way through his living room a few drunk girls blush and wave in my direction, giggling their asses off.

Something heavy crashes into my back and a pair of arms clad in orange sleeves hang over my shoulders. The smell of cigarettes is over powering. "Tucker, my man!"

"McCormick." I mutter disinterested as he continues to hang on my back.

"Got some new shit. It's fucking great." He takes the cigarette out of his teeth and puts it out on his exposed side. I swear to God, he's impervious to pain, like it doesn't even register in him. Kenny McCormick is a reckless douche. As of right now, a self-abusing, high, reckless douche. He pulls out a baggie from his pocket and shoves a joint in my hand.

"Thanks for the present. Get the fuck off of me." I deadpan, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough to make him move. He chuckles, pressing a hand against his chest.

"I'm hurt." He laughs, golden blonde hair falling in his eyes until he pushes it up and out of his forehead. Kenny flashes me a toothy grin and shoves his other hand in his pocket, extending a silver lighter.

"Where's your guy?" I ask, extending my hand and allowing him to light it for me as we walk to Token's garage.

"In here." The blonde chuckles breathily as he pushes open the garage door. Inside a depressing type of rock music is playing in the background with a mellow tune from Red's laptop. She sits on the floor underneath a tan couch pushed against a wall next to a tool bench. Above her is Kevin Stoley and next to him a light haired blonde in a baby-blue jacket a little too small for them. As the door opens the blonde whips around to look over the back of the couch and lights up as Kenny strides over.

I throw myself on the ground against the back of the couch as McCormick places a kiss rather loudly against the other blonde's forehead. I blow a plume of smoke out of my mouth and let my eyes close for a minute as the last of the joint burns away. It must have been more than a few minutes because soon I feel a foot connect with my side.

I hold up my middle finger, dawned with many silver rings, in the poor boy's direction. "See, told you he was awake!" Kenny shouts obnoxiously, swaying on his own feet.

Grunting, I stand and slide under the partially-opened garage door into the cold night air. Not many people are out here, but I still find it a little much to be forced to listen to whoever the hell it is making out under a bush.

I round the side of the ridiculously large house and into the backyard. My eyes pass under his porch where the hot tub is full of people, a few of the girl's not even wearing swim suits. Muttering a few choice words under my breath, my eyes finally find a large shed at the back of the yard and a small space behind it in between his fence and the shed's wall.

What I wasn't expecting was to find someone else already behind it.

Crouched on in the grass with their head buried in their arms was none other than Tweek Tweak. His incredibly long and skeleton-bony fingers are gripping locks of his bleach-pale blonde hair that seems to always be in a constant state of bed-head. He sounds like he's hyperventilating and resting by his feet, leaning against the shed, is a silver thermos. His stained white sneakers are untied and his jeans are torn in multiple places around his incredibly thin frame. He doesn't notice me.

I've known him for a very long time, but from a distance. Sort of a friend-of-a-friend situation. But sometimes at lunch or at Clyde's or Token's on the weekend, I catch him watching me. More than once, actually. I confronted him about it just last month, pretty much sick of him eye-fucking me all damn day. He turned as red as a tomato and swore up and down he wasn't watching me. I still catch him doing it occasionally and usually glaring at him makes him stop.

I don't know much about him as a person, but I know enough about him to know that it's really fuckin' weird for him to be at a party like this. I also know enough about him to know that he's incredibly unstable.

I lean against the side of the shed, my long legs coming up to my chest as I sink down to the ground. I'm one of the tallest people in the tenth grade, coming an incredibly close second only to Eric Cartman. Third is probably McCormick and then this scrawny mess still hyperventilating into his knees, his knuckles white he's gripping his hair so tight. I'm surprised he hasn't pulled it out yet.

I dig in my pockets and pull out a cigarette and pink Bic lighter. Once in a blue moon I light up a death-stick or two and sit out on my roof while my parents get piss drunk and scream at each other until two in the morning. Tonight's just one of those nights where I wish the world was gone.

As I exhale and blow smoke up into the air, I hear a yelp of surprise. Looking off to the side I examine Tweek.

He's incredibly bony and pale, his eyes are home to deep, deep purple circles bearing the mark of sleeplessness. His hair is messy and incredibly long and his shirts are always either buttoned wrong, or, in this case, over sized T-shirts stained with coffee.

"T-the f-fuck you want, man?" His voice is squeaky and his head snaps to the side as his entire body shudders with a tiny jolt.

"It's quiet back here." I mumble as I draw the cigarette away from my lips. He twitches but doesn't respond, his almost amber eyes burning into me. I wonder what he sees for a minute. My blue chullo hat sitting on top of raven black hair, my tongue ring, my multiple rings on my middle fingers, my dark blue jacket and plain jeans and black converse? I stop myself. Why do I care? I turn my head and put the cigarette back into my mouth. This time, he doesn't turn away. As I pull it out and blow smoke above my head, I speak. "You're staring at me again." I turn back to the fence which is suddenly very interesting.

"I-I know." He mutters.

I glance at him again. "Are you drunk?"

"GAH- Christ man!" I stare at him and slowly raise an eyebrow. "C-Clyde spiked my c-coffee! I didn't k-know! Oh God- don't call the cops on me! I don't want to go to prison! I can't handle that, man! Achk!" He shrieks, burying his face in his knees again. That explains why he's back here. Poor bastard thinks he's gonna' get arrested.

I chuckle and he raises his head slowly, as if baffled I could make such a noise. I'm not really smiling, but I'm laughing a little.

"Clyde's an ass." I offer dryly.

"Y-yeah…" I can feel his eyes continue to bore into me, but this time I don't really care.

"Why're you here? I didn't think you'd be the partying type." I must still be pretty buzzed. I'm never this talkative.

"I-I wanted to see what it was like…" I grunt in response and snuff out the last of the cigarette by rubbing it against the side of the shed. "Hey…" Tweek waits for a response silently, blinking rather ferociously. "…why do you stare at me all the time?"

"W-well if you're staring at me every time I-I'm staring at you t-then- eurgh- don't you s-stare at me too?" He squeaks out, pausing briefly to make a grunting like noise and tug at his hair.

He's right. If I catch him staring at me that often… I'm basically staring at him just as much as he is at me. "Just answer the fucking question, Tweek." I mutter bitterly.

Tweek makes a tiny noise similar to a squeak and now proceeds to avoid my gaze at all costs. "I-I like the way you look…" He almost whispers, burying his face in his knees again. I can't help but laugh at that. I really can't, because it's fuckin' funny. He likes the way I look. Does that mean he thinks I'm attractive? Hah.

Yeah right.

Slowly he raises his head to look at me. He looks like he's going to cry, so I suddenly stop and return his stare. He pushes the back side of his hand into his right eye and blinks for a long moment. With shaking hands he reaches for the thermos beside him, pulling it to his lips and taking a long swig.

"I thought you said Clyde spiked that."

"H-he did." Tweek says, finally setting the thermos down.

He leans his back against the shed and shifts so we're sitting side by side now. Under the moonlight I can clearly see the freckles on his pale skin and the purple under his eyes as he shakes occasionally.

So we sit like that.

Both staring at the fence in silence. Suddenly, our feet pressed flat against the Black's backyard fence is far more interesting than anything else. But an obviously very drunk Tweek and a buzzed me coming down slowly from a high find it to be prime entertainment.

"Hey, Tweek, hand me your thermos." I mutter. He blinks for a long moment and passes over the thin yet tall silver receptacle. I unscrew the cap and take a long swig of the still luke-warm coffee and… vodka.

"Do you not like it when I stare at you…?" Tweek asks suddenly, his voice laced with this starkness and surprisingly saddened tone I hadn't expected to hear.

I think for a moment before responding. "I don't _not _like it." I say, raising the thermos to my lips again.

"Okay." He says, taking the thermos back from me gently and drinking some more himself. He looks about ready to pass out. Fuckin' light weight. "I won't not continue."

There was a long period of time in which we just stared at our feet against the fence and stayed in our own thoughts, me wondering what he's thinking.

I light another cigarette.

We pass the thermos between each other periodically until it's empty. I pull out grass and begin to sprinkle it down into the container. Tweek watches and says nothing. I pick up my two cigarette butts and drop them in before continuing to put more grass in.

"You better clean that out…" He slurs tiredly. When he's drunk, his stutter is gone. His voice sounds normal, just incoherent.

"'Kay." I mutter, knowing I might regret that later.

I rip out more grass and let it fall from my fingers, some missing the cup and falling to the side. Suddenly his feet slip off of the fence with a loud shuffle and something drops into my side. His head is on my shoulder and his arm against my leg, his legs scrunched up awkwardly as his chest rises and falls gently, his eyes closed.

"Mother fucker…" I mumble under my breath as Tweek continues to sleep against me.

I continue to sprinkle grass into the thermos for who knows how long until I finally decide I'm cold and tired and want to go to bed. I move to stand, almost forgetting Tweek beside me. Grumbling quietly, I lift the incredibly light blonde under his knees and neck, letting his head loll over my wrist so his head is bent backwards. I tuck his thermos in my pocket and slowly trudge out of the yard and down the street slightly to my crappy old Grand Am car.

I balance Tweek in one hand while trying to unlock the car and nearly drop him twice before getting it. He still stays asleep as I lay him across the backseat on top of a blanket I already have back there. Two pillows are tucked under both the passenger's seat and the driver's seat, and I tug mine out and put it under his head before slamming the door and stumbling to the driver's seat and turning the key in the ignition.

I'm too drunk to drive.

I turn on the heat and hold my palms out in front of the vent, sighing. I grab the other pillow and put it behind my own head, allowing myself to slump down in the seat and drape my arm across my eyes. Before nodding off, I shrug my jacket off and take one more glance in the backseat before throwing the blue coat over Tweek, still passed out. I turn off the car once it's warm enough to be comfortable and toss the keys in the console. The heat wastes gas.

And, as I have done every night for the past two weeks, I fall asleep in my car. But this time, the company isn't my little sister.


End file.
